


by any other name

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny doesn't get drunk often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by any other name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leupagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/gifts).



> All leupagus's fault! Thanks to dogeared for betaing.

Danny doesn't get drunk often. Steve gets it—there's the job, there's Gracie, and Steve knows what it's like not to be able to afford that kind of leniency towards yourself. It's a rare occasion that Danny moves beyond two bottles of beer or one of those neon-coloured cocktails he likes sometimes—the Friday night when a case has been wrapped up with everyone safe and sound and happily restored to their families, when the property damage is small enough that the Governor doesn't feel the need to yell at anyone, when Grace is with Rachel for the weekend. Friday nights like that, Danny's been known to bring a six-pack or three out onto the lanai, toast Steve while the sun goes down over the water.

Danny's not an angry drunk, which is good, or a weepy drunk, which, as far as Steve's concerned, is even better.

What he is, unfortunately, is a verbal drunk. Steve acknowledges that saying "Danny likes to talk" is an understatement at the best of times, but when he's tipsy... well, that's when he gets inventive.

"Seriously," Danny's saying, listing until he's a warm, heavy weight against Steve's side. "Seriously, seriously, you're like my boo-bear."

Steve blinks, replays the last ten seconds or so in his head, blinks again. "Okay!" he says, voice sounding a little too loud even to his own ears. None of the neighbours are really close enough to overhear their conversations, but just the possibility is enough to make the tips of Steve's ears turn red. "Think that's enough beer for one night. Let's get you some water and some aspirin and head up to bed, huh?"

"Absolutely!" Danny says amiably, drawing out every syllable. His eyes crinkle up at the corners when he grins. "Sometimes you have good ideas. I mean, not all the time, obviously—that thing today, with the jumping? Not one of your better ideas, muffin"— _Muffin_? Steve mouths in horror—"but this one's a-okay with me." He tries to make the okay sign, but his fingers clearly aren't co-operating the way he hopes. Steve has to pull him to his feet, keeps one arm around him while they head inside the house. They've only taken a couple of steps when Steve realises that if Danny's fingers aren't co-operating right now, his hands still are, because for some reason Danny's decided that now is an excellent time to play grab-ass.

"Danny!" Steve hisses, because _this_ is what commitment is like? This is what it's like to have Danny live here full-time now—weird nicknames and Danny patting his ass like it's some sort of reassuring talisman?

"Yeah, pumpkin-nugget?"

Apparently this is what commitment is like.

Slowly, laboriously, Steve gets Danny through the living room up and up the stairs. He drops him onto the bed before he retrieves a glass of water and some pills from the bathroom. "Drink!" he orders, and while Danny is being obedient for once in his life, Steve tugs off his shoes and socks, undoes his belt and peels off his pants.

Danny fumbles the glass onto the bedside table, flops back onto the mattress and does his best impression of a beached starfish. "Th'nk you," he mumbles, followed by something that sounds an awful lot like, "Puddin' knickers." Which... aren't knickers a British thing? Is it a sexy English fetish thing? Is it a _Rachel_ thing? No way Steve's going to dig too closely into that one.

While Danny dozes, Steve moves quietly around the room: turns on a lamp, cracks open one of the windows, puts the dirty clothes in the hamper and tugs on some PJ bottoms before brushing his teeth. By the time he crawls into his side of the bed, Danny's snoring softly. Steve thinks Danny's probably not had enough to drink to be truly sick in the morning, but he's probably going to be pretty embarrassed. He reaches out, smoothes away a stray lock of hair that's fallen onto Danny's forehead; for the hundredth time since he acknowledged to himself what he feels for Danny, his chest grows tight with the force of overwhelming affection, of all the things he doesn't have words for.

Steve considers reading—ever since he had to read some _Sherlock Holmes_ for that one case, he's been on a classic lit binge and has surprised himself with how much he likes Jane Austen—but it's been a long day, and his eyelids are growing heavy. He turns off the light, curls closer to Danny under the covers. Danny's rouses himself a little in response to Steve's movement, inching closer so that his head is resting on Steve's shoulder. He presses a whiskery kiss to the curve of Steve's neck and then says, very distinctly, "Good night, honey bunches of cuddle muffins."

Despite himself, Steve can't help the belly laugh that escapes him. It feels good, and he's still smiling as he falls asleep. "Good night, Danno," he says—because even if Danny's more teasing now than tipsy, well, there's something to be said for giving name to what you're feeling whatever way you can.

Even if it _is_ boo-bear.


End file.
